


Shine So Bright

by CampionSayn



Series: Alieni Generis [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007), Transformers: Armada
Genre: Gen, Hinted reincarnation, Parent-Child Relationship, Taiyari art, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 08:28:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4012720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampionSayn/pseuds/CampionSayn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a difference between helping someone because of one's own volition and helping someone because of a suggestion. It only matters in the end if in neither situation someone ends up not caring for the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shine So Bright

**Author's Note:**

> The gorgeous art was commissioned from Taiyari at tumblr. Worship her art if not this little fic.

_-:-_  
_Your battle below is lost to him—whelp of the North Wind—just as the one up here is lost to me._  
_-Fables, Book 4: March of the Wooden Soldiers._

* * *

  
3.  
  
Red. Yellow. Blue. The emotions that he felt in his beginning with the others were simple instructions to survive in the harsh universe under the thumb of Starscream, who would have had his creations call him leader, master, lord.  
  
Things had changed, Skywarp thought, absent and half-there in the back of his mind as he stood on the deck of Swindle's ship and watched the Autobot high command ship blink away from them--  
  
_[Thundercracker, Sunstorm, Thrust, all behind the youngest Seeker sibling, in the dirt of the moon, not wholly defeated but down for now, were hardly worth considering over as Skywarp gently landed in the maw of the Autobot Elite Guard entry bay, the small flight model twins held in each arm unconscious and Skywarp's stern lantern-red optics set on the white and grey ninja-bot that had seen fit to come and meet him._  
  
_Gentle, gentle with the twins, Jetfire handed over first, left leg damaged and left arm in need of repair and Jetstorm second with his familiar EM field and both thrusters half broken clean off; Skywarp kept a serious look at Jazz as he hissed, firm and still afraid, but not for himself as much as he had been five months ago, "Take better care of them. They're too young to be out in battle and you know it."_  
  
_Jazz wasn't left with time for his own answer, words swept away as Skywarp launched off the ramp and back out towards the other side of the city this particular skirmish had been fought, Swindle doubtless keeping an optic on him the whole time and Lockdown laughing at the looks he'd downloaded a scan of on his own when Skywarp went to help the twins and started his act by crashing pede first into Thundercracker's face, making a little dance of it before the rest figured out what had happened.]_  
  
\--as they made for the next trading post planet. The half-energon, half-ethanol _(made from distilled pond scum and organic cooking grease; his new favorite thing)_ drink in his hand made semi-circles as he looked away and over towards Swindle. That proud look on his face—emotion in the spectrum of the color peach or blush, infused Red with White and speckles that made some other emotion he hadn't internally labelled yet—made Skywarp a little happier for the moment, even as he was unsure if he did the right thing when it felt wrong attacking his brothers for the sake of what barely qualified as other family in the twins.  
  
"Do you think that they'll be alright?" The Seeker questioned lightly, sipping from the fuel and letting the taste wash over him before the swallow.  
  
Lockdown looked up from the datapads surrounding him—little armies of information on mechs that he was set to chase down after he considered over which ones were more expensive and which ones were more for the prizes he could collect off their forms—and clicked his glossa along the little separation between his denta, "Who? The other clones or the Autobots you were carrying around like your own sparklings?"  
  
"Both," Skywarp shrugged, aware that Lockdown was being condescending—something like an emotion on the Green spectrum that reminded Skywarp of the moss he'd slipped on in his early months on a water based planet he hadn't liked to touch but found interesting to look at once Swindle explained what it did—but not having the inclination to be offended by it. Lockdown was the way he was because he was difficult, as Swindle had explained it and there was no getting around _that_.  
  
The arms dealer _(his Decepticon symbol had turned off the moment they were all alone and the ship had air-locked, so there was no calling him one of those mentally; that other little symbol that was actually a part of his plating and made up the vast majority of his chestplates faded but stubbornly present didn't allow for him to be called anything but what he really was in safety)_ rolled his eyes at Lockdown but nodded half-consciously at Skywarp, "I should think so. You didn't give your brothers anything they couldn't take and the jettwins, left in Jazz's capable servos, should fully recover."  
  
It went without saying that there were worse beings and places Skywarp could have left the two with—Sentinel Not-A-Magnus at the top of that list.  
  
Skywarp felt Ivory Elephant White colored Joy shift into place at the forefront of his emotions. His wings twitched their clear finish upwards with that feeling and he continued to enjoy his drink looking out the window at the star clusters Swindle called the Milky Way. It wouldn't be too long until he got to go home.  
  
2.  
  
Intergalactic Circuses were a rare thing, but the ones that continued on for more than fifty years were legendary and meant to stay that way for as long as the owners and performers could possibly help it.  
  
The Circus Parade, in which all who made up the show streamlined down the streets of the central cities of certain planets and districts they would be staying in, was a sight Skywarp hadn't at first fancied seeing. But Swindle said he'd hold his hand, so he'd gone when the smaller mech _(male? The glows of blue and sand yellow mixed together with the questions when he recalled again and again that Swindle had explained that he wasn't technically a Cybertronian, really, so was it proper to keep calling him the tech equivalency to masculine terminology...?—oh, wait, no, right, Swindle said it didn't matter when they weren't around Decepticons or Autobots. His thought process went back to crystal clear)_ and stood beside him near the alley the ship was parked in, should they have to turn tail and leave in case bigger forms than these neutrals all around showed up looking to get Skywarp along to tear out his Allspark fragment. He hoped _(clean blue water, untarnished opal gems, Earth seen from far, far away)_ that such wouldn't happen, not with Swindle having been as protective of him as a wolf with his cub for so long now _(there was a laugh Starscream would have had if he were alive—someone that looked like a Cybertronian likening himself to a lesser, organic creature known only for its legends and being both hunter and hunted among more sentient creatures—though Swindle seemed to like his emergency alt-mode just fine)_.  
  
He actually thought this was interesting.  
  
Seventeen acrobats of smaller minibot designs back-flipped and handwalked in the front, colors bordering the spectrum that Skywarp remembered decorating robin birds back on earth, browns, reds and whites that made him feel warm on sight. A half dozen larger models walked on long-reaching metal rods that bounced on each step and clink-clank-chimed the silver and bronze bells tied at their pede joints and along their hips assisting in the music of the ensemble. There were tanks that made up the back end covered in crystallic flowers in flashing neon lights, tossing up flight models—not Seekers, some of the crowd around them kept eyeing Skywarp for being one of the few the planet had seen in almost eight moons, to which Swindle just smiled at the looks they gave the younger and then grinned wide enough to show the denta that were rather unfriendly sharp and tended to send others shuffling away—and the kind of femmes that seemed more suited to the cyber ninja people, joining in hand at the highest point in the air and trading partners so they looked like...Skywarp considered over the words in his database and memories of Earth and information Swindle kept giving him to read in datapads...  
  
The air shot performers looked like snow and dandelion fluff, different and complimented each other.  
  
_["Now, now, you'll get used to the harder updrafts the more you practice, kid."_  
  
_Swindle had just come back from one of the underground mines of the planet they were on—miles and miles of mechs and femmes making temporary homes in camps at the base of purple colored mountains that made Skywarp uneasy and would continue to do so until they left; entire clusters of Cybertronians digging for minerals to collect and sell to both sides of the war, none of them carrying either Autobot or Decepticon symbols, which suited Skywarp tremendously since a few weeks ago when they'd nearly run aground of the Decepticon Justice Division and Swindle would have been questioned had they noticed Skywarp more closely avoiding them so he could give warning to the other it was time for them to leave—covered in dust and grime from how tight the tunnel had been. His usual secret meetings with his anonymous benefactor, "More like an acquaintance of a higher level than Lockdown who likes his privacy," having gone splendid, found himself faced with a disappointed Skywarp, wings dented from running off the side of the cliff. In need of repairs again and huffy from his failed attempt at making it higher than a few stories, he wanted... comfort._  
  
_"How? It's been three months and I still can't get very high in the air without you tying a rope to me and pulling me up like a kite!"_  
  
_"Now, now, 'Warp," Swindle tutted, patching up the right wing first and massaging a nerve bundle in the biggest seem to loosen the other up and make the process easier, "Thundercracker did a real number on you when he blasted out of that cement and scattered you and the Autobot. These things take time to heal and you're rushing around isn't going to make it any better."_  
  
_"But I don't like being stuck on the ground!" Skywarp argued, almost petulant as Starscream had been before his death and his body being procured by friends of Swindle to be melted down into a large bubbled vase, filled in with glass around the hollow openings with dirt, water and plant seedlings stuffed inside and now set in the ship's entryway—which could almost make it seem like he had been useful once, "I'm supposed to fly—I don't know how you can stand being on the ground all the time."_  
  
_"I stand it just fine. Not like I used to when I was a few times younger, but I got used to it. You settle down a little and you might, too."_  
  
_Skywarp tucked his knees up under his chin and huffed, earning a soft pat on the helm as Swindle kept patching him up, trying to ignore the slight sting as he strung together loosened wires, tubing that needed sealant and glue and twine to keep it all in place until they met up with Lockdown again with a doctor he could kidnap for a little while.]_  
  
"Maybe we should try that, the next time you practice," Swindle suggested above the din as more performers walked the streets, the crowds lighting up, Skywarp barely hearing him as two obviously marine based bots brought up the rear to carrying a sign reading where the tent was set up, "I'm no Blackout, but I think I could toss you that high if I tried hard enough."  
  
1.  
  
"Get that disgusting sludge away from me, crankcase, or I'll smash your head into the wall and not feel bad about it."  
  
"You never feel bad about anything," Swindle sing-songed, still leaning over the edge of his couch and practically pressing his pint glass of something Skywarp didn't recognize _(it was liquid, it was fuel, it was brown, but, no, his sensors told him it wasn't oil; oil wouldn't make Swindle this pleasant to be around—it usually just left him a little bit like a vacant shell of himself, which is why Skywarp rarely saw him refuel on it)_ into the side of Lockdown's 'I'm So Done With This' face.  
  
"Which should give you s clue that I'm not joking. Frag off."  
  
Swindle withdrew, still smiling but a bit more kind than when he was cheeky and trying to get Lockdown _(or Skywarp; that blue not-Autobot that they'd met up with a few weeks ago that supplied Swindle the proper plating to fix some of the external armor along Skywarp's back and wings that had been more severely damaged when Thundercracker smashed open that horrible cement; those secret Triplechangers near that Energon farm Swindle got Skywarp's fuel from)_ to do something, settling along the back of the couch as if it were a proper seat. He tipped his drink back into his mouth and swallowed, sipped, hummed pleasantly so that Skywarp became a little less afraid and eased out of the corner he'd tucked himself into the moment Lockdown stepped foot on the ship.  
  
The fuel must have been a bit more pleasant than it looked, and from where Skywarp had been hiding _(a bit of an exaggeration, being wedged between two computer consoles and that tree—Elder Tree as Swindle had explained; older than Skywarp had been alive and very relaxing to look at despite all the customers that came to see Swindle found it disturbing that the boughs and twigs had established themselves in the lighting panels and ventilation systems—that had broken out of its pot years ago could hardly be called a perfect hiding spot)_ it smelled not-unpleasant.  
  
"...What is it?" Skywarp asked, low to stay out of Lockdown's interest as the bounty hunter continued free-loading on his friend's _(Skywarp assumed they were friends; the purple arms dealer turned off the sight of his Decepticon mark in his presence, let go of his salesmen persona almost entirely and was less happy when he left the ship than he was with others)_ couch until Swindle's ship could park Lockdown's ship they were towing to the next planet for refueling and repairs the green/black mech could pay for with some trophies that had lost their charm; he wouldn't be gone for two weeks, in other words, so Skywarp would have to get used to him sooner rather than later.  
  
"Instant coffee and sea kelp shavings," Swindle replied, sipping again and stepping over to the console at the front of the deck to turn on the built-in stereo he'd stolen from Earth before becoming entangled with those criminal humans _(he spoke of them fondly on occasion, though Skywarp felt strange at that because why should Swindle consider over beings that had left him to rot in an impound yard behind a locked gate in stasis for weeks and weeks)_ ; a recording began to play what Skywarp somehow knew were piano chords and trumpets—Smooth Jazz, "Delicious; it's my favorite next to dried worm salt and hot cooking oil."  
  
Lockdown made a face like he was trying not to purge, but Skywarp inhaled more of the smell and inched a little closer to Swindle, smooth jazz rolling over his sensors and relaxing his ever-present panic and fear.  
  
"Can...Can I try it?"  
  
Swindle removed his cup from the edge of his lips and blinked _(not shutter, the lights of his optics never fully darkened like others, which is why Skywarp always knew when he was truly awake at the ship's main wheel on restless cycles between planets and when he was straight into recharge)_ at the young flight model, "If you like."  
  
He held his arm out, only two fingers holding the grip of the cup and Skywarp received it gently in both much, much larger servos.  
  
0.  
  
_Tiny little bones under fine meat—no, skin, be polite, you know enough about that—with a tuft of light brown fur—hair--on top. Kind eyes the same color of coding without mistakes, be gentle, gentle; cant you tell the Minicons are worried about you; try to act like these companions that try to keep you in bright spirits—no this thing can't hurt them, he can't let it, they have so much left of themselves; these are your friends, this little runner, this girl, this silent one that carries her—no, if I am to die it will not be for nothing--!_  
  
**[It's time to wake up.]  
**  
_[Plasma cannons fired off, as well as fire at the end of pedes, burning and bashing against the plating underneath that couldn't do anything about it as an explosion took hold around and up and down, tossing three in different directions; one bolted off like a shot along the ground, another up in the air, squalling in indignation with more fire and anger and—no, no, no, come back--!]_  
  
Consciousness greets Skywarp in an onslaught of color assaulting his optics and neuroprocessors, light following close behind with sound and taste and—oh, he hurts.  
  
Panic is familiar and that's what he reacts with when awareness sets into him and he starts to wiggle his heavy arms and legs, wings twitching at the ends and his vocalizor fizzled with static as he tried to call out for...someone. Thundercracker was who came to mind, though why he would bother with him when the blue Seeker had left him to rot as he chased after the Elite Guard that couldn't have been caught on a good day, he hadn't the slightest idea. Familiarity is what drove him to the name and person, he supposed, even if he didn't actually like him; starvation in stasis had been horrible in the being left behind.  
  
A soft circular motion focused his attention to his right wing and his optics blazed in his unending fear towards what might have been an enemy.  
  
"Ah, you're awake. That's good. I was starting to worry that your idiot sibling had really screwed the pooch forgetting about you."  
  
Groggy and pained and not wanting to suffer anymore but knowing he couldn't just pretend not to exist—he'd tried that on the asteroid all by himself and it hadn't worked out at all—Skywarp tilted his head as much as he could without drawing too much pain out further and looked to find someone he didn't recognize _(Starscream's residual memories that hadn't faded in isolation to give way to learned experience made a small blip in his processor, but nothing that could last)_ smoothing a rag along his wings, into scratches and dents, cleaning him—buffing out the color and shape of the Decepticon badge Starscream had slapped onto each clone.  
  
Garbled static left Skywarp at the sight of one badge being almost entirely gone—he didn't know why it was important, he hadn't much liked it when he'd been on Earth and been made to attack Megatron and then the Autobots, but it had always been there and someone removing it without permission was scary—and he had to clear the dust out of his mouth before trying again; he still wasn't quite clear, but it seemed the other got the gist, assisting Skywarp to a sitting position so the Seeker could fiddle with his hands and keep himself calmed down rather than shaking like leaves (funny, he could remember those little things perfectly).  
  
"I'm Swindle," the other introduced himself, continuing to buff out the image the of badge as well as the surrounding areas, "And you're Skywarp. You don't know me, but I was asked to make sure you were all right and when I found you, you were in awful shape. Now, I'm not one to give a lot of sympathy, it's not in my nature, or any of my kind's nature, but I couldn't very well leave you all alone, now could I? Stasis locked, no fuel in your tank, nearly blown apart by your own brother—I'm bad, but I'm not heartless."  
  
The youngest out of all of the Seekers created by Starscream in his own image didn't say anything to the steady rush of words that fell out of this mech's mouth _(he didn't see a badge and something about the word 'heart' didn't seem right coming out the way Swindle had said it, but that didn't cling to his usual fright like most things, so he ignored it for now)_ and just settled for being tended to as the other continued on. It seemed he was getting an explanation outright so there was no point in asking question.  
  
No, he'd only object to anything if words like 'getting sold' or 'spare parts' or 'air lock' dropped like unwanted acid rain with his usual response to anything out of his control.  
  
*  
*  
*  
*  
*  
*  
  
_"Is he worth it, this runt of the litter? War might be at a slight halt with Megatron in a cell, but I have many other things to do, dear heart. Is this worth my time?"_  
  
_Swindle, alone in the bottom of a mine shaft, surrounded by dead mecha he'd been digging around the innards of for something useful as well as curious to whether or not he might find familiar faces in the rubble, all shells shining grey in the light of his palm-pilot computer (as it were), eyed the other who'd call him, waiting._  
  
_Yellow optics, older than him, older than any others of their kind **(yes, Swindle included himself, even if he was a bit of an odd one out that rarely interracted with the others if he could possibly avoid them, or the 'Cons and Autobots—bad recollections of lifetimes ago that nobody would explain, damn it all)** looked back at him, half-lidded and bored._  
  
_Silence reigned, but Swindle was the first to break it, never very good at holding up under any sort of pressure and, really, even if he said no, he'd probably do it anyway—working with the living had at least a few more perks than managing the dead._  
  
_"Fine, fine," he grumbled, kicking a rusted hand curled around near the base of its own head. It flung through the air and bounced a few times towards the other end of the mine, its digits leaving scratches on other bodies._  
  
_All he got to that end was the usual knowing smile and the other end cutting off, leaving nothing but the light of his own optics to glow lavender-laurel in the dark._

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to believe that from one existence to another Swindle had some decency. It might stick if someone ever pushed it on him and kept it there like a brick on top of a garbage can.


End file.
